When She Misses Him
by theheartofadetective
Summary: It had not been until he was in a relationship with the mousy pathologist that he found something that made it worth not jumping from case to case.


**A/N: I have missed writing a lottt even though I didn't go long without writing something. Either way, I hope you enjoy! :)**

One word prompt: _coat_

Sherlock treaded quietly up the stairs leading to the 221B, where he was sure his wife would be, safe and sound asleep. He had just finished up a case and was pleased to come home.

It had not been until he was in a relationship with the mousy pathologist that he found something that made it worth not jumping from case to case. With John, most of his friends, he saw them more when he was on a case than when off (John was also married, to Mary Morstan, now Watson, so the scheme was changed a bit). And with Molly, yes, he did get to see her when in the lab to do testing, but when off a case was when he could spend non-case related time with her.

His cold demeanour may have given a strong impression that he would not be the type to be close and affectionate, but it was quite the opposite. With Molly, when everything didn't have to be about a case, when he was free of one at least, she was spoiled with affection. Words came difficult for him, but expressing them physically gave Molly comfort even though she always knew what he said without him saying.

Though she was living in 221B, they had not much chance to spend time together in the past few weeks. Sherlock was taking a lot of cases with John, and Molly was expected to work extra hours. Due to short staffing, it would be this way until they hired another pathologist. Their moments together in the morgue were brief; he was better than he used to be, but Molly understood and respected that when he lost himself in a case, it was a devotion, a dedication, and he didn't like to let himself get distracted.

He narrowed his eyes a bit when he saw the light on, knowing both her sleep schedule, and that she would be exhausted from working longer shifts. But when he opened the door, he couldn't help but let a light smile flicker on his face at the image before him.

The small lamp was still on, but Sherlock had been right; Molly was fast asleep on the sofa. She had a peaceful look on her face, her arm hanging off the sofa where she dropped her book she was reading as she waited for him, cuddled up in his big Belstaff coat. He had not worn it due to the summer heat, so she must have dug it out of the closet.

He was not all that surprised though; she did this often, especially when she missed him. Usually she would wear his dressing gown, and sometimes his button up shirts, but that coat was such his staple that she curled up in it and let the familiar scent of her husband soothe her.

At first, Sherlock did not understand the point of why Molly wore his clothing. She had her own, even if it was appallingly unflattering to her figure, but it was not long before he began to understand, and he liked it. Her taking something of his and feeling comfortable in it meant that she was more comfortable around him. They had come a long way from the stuttering, stammering pathologist falling over him to what they meant to each other now.

He walked over to the sofa, turning off the side lamp before crouching down to take one look at her peaceful, sleeping face. He smiled again before pressing a light kiss to her brow, disregarding the slight dampness. He picked her up in his arms, holding her close against his chest as he carried her to their bedroom.

He heard Molly take in a breath as he made it to their bedroom, knowing that she had stirred. She let out a contented sigh as she realised that Sherlock was carrying her, and that she had her consulting detective home with her to sleep that night.

Her blissful content was cut short though, when she felt him put her down on the floor so she stood, and she let out a groan. Her toes curled at the coolness of the hardwoods as she buried her face against his chest, curling her arms under her. She clung close to him despite her protests at being put down. At this point, she was going to let him support her balance if he was going to do that to her so close to the bed.

Molly felt Sherlock's lips light against her ear, his warm breath on her as he spoke softly. "You're sweating in that coat; it's too warm," he told her, gently trying to push it from her shoulders.

Although it was still warm outside of the coat, when she allowed him to pull it off of her, it was a major change in temperature from what she had been sleeping in the past few hours. Sherlock let herself balance against him again as she shivered, but let out another groan when she realised she _had_ sweat in her clothing.

"Get in bed," she mumbled to him as she pulled away and walked over to her dresser to change. Her back faced him as she removed her clothes to exchange them for pyjamas.

Sherlock lay in bed on his back as he watched his pathologist change. He saw the curves, the dip in her upper back. He knew the way her body looked, filed up and locked away within his mind palace, but he never got tired of seeing it. Same Molly, same body, always, but he was always fascinated by her; always loved tracing his fingers lightly on her skin, especially when he made her shiver. Molly smiled through her cranky grogginess when she realised her husband was watching her intently, not being able to help the small flush that rose to her cheeks.

When she climbed back into bed, she curled up against his chest as he wrapped an arm around her. He was silent for a long moment, wondering if she had fallen back asleep yet, but when he felt lips giving light affectionate kisses to his neck, he knew otherwise. He found her hand, lacing her fingers with his own.

"I missed you," she mumbled, lips still against his skin.

"I missed you too," he whispered, and she heard Sherlock let out a small contented sigh before he found her lips, kissing her soundly. She pushed herself closer against him as she kissed him over and over.

When he pulled back slightly, Molly rested her head against his chest again, her hand next to her head. Sherlock's hand found comfort in the small of her back, holding her to him.

"Are we really having a day of no work and no cases tomorrow?" she asked, her voice thick with fatigue, but he smirked at the excitement he could still hear within it.

"I promised you that, didn't I?"

Molly reached her hand down again, finding his as she squeezed it. "You did," she said happily. He pressed his lips to the top of her head before they both relaxed against each other, letting sleep take over, both excited for their day together tomorrow.


End file.
